


Best of Wives and Best of Wyverns

by ehmazing



Category: Galavant (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:31:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5958925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehmazing/pseuds/ehmazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roberta takes on life’s biggest challenges: queenship, optimism, and solo parenting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best of Wives and Best of Wyverns

**Author's Note:**

> This fic refers to some headcanons elaborated on in my previous one, "One Knight with the King," but you can still read this on its own and manage fine!

Roberta was dying.

Her chest was burning, pinned under a weight so heavy that it hurt to breathe. Someone was holding her down, lying on her legs so that she couldn’t kick free. But the early-morning assassin must not have been well-trained because they left her arms alone, and she scrambled blindly for the dagger she kept on the bedside table so she could raise it and—

The weight shifted slightly, and there was the soft sound of a tongue flicking the air in the dark.

“Tad Cooper,” she gasped, half-relieved and half-outraged. “Get. _Off._ ”

He hissed unhappily as she slapped his nose, slinking off the bed and onto the floor. Or partly-slinking, since he was too large to fit on the mattress anymore; his torso, legs, and tail curled on the throw rug several feet away while he sprawled his head and neck over her. She’d had a pleasant dream about a warm summer wind and grimaced now, knowing she’d only been feeling Tad Cooper’s hot, foul breath against her face.

“Where is that damn spray bottle?” she muttered, setting the dagger aside. _The Bestiary for Beginners: An Everyman’s Guide to Taming Your Enchanted Creature_ recommended spritzing your dragon for bad behavior. It had worked wonders on teaching Tad Cooper not to chew on the furniture, but then he had figured out how to steal the bottle and hide it with his hoard in the shed. Richard was no help with discipline (“Darling, don’t be too harsh, he’s just going through a phase!") and since she would rather not hunt for the original in Tad Cooper's massive hoard of mangled sheep bones, broken cart wheels, and left shoes, she’d had to replace it four times already.

A low growl rumbled from the corner.

“Don’t even start,” Roberta warned, her chest still aching. “You know you’re not allowed past the living room. I don’t even want to know how you got through the bedroom door.”

There was the sound of a stone wall crumbling, bits of mortar clattering on the floor. Roberta groaned.

“You just broke through the frame, of course that’s how.”

Tad Cooper growled again, softer this time. On the other side of the bed Richard turned in his sleep, burying his face into the pillow. Damn him, he could sleep through anything. She laid there for a few moments, listening to him breathe, and could’ve fallen back asleep if Tad Cooper hadn’t whined again and scratched at the wall with his talons.

“Fine, you big baby,” Roberta sighed, wincing as her bare feet met the icy stone floor. She held her hands in the air to make sure she wouldn’t walk right into the wardrobe and quickly pulled on her dressing gown, boots, and one of Richard’s overcoats for extra warmth. “Let’s go for a walk.”

The stars were still overheard as she strode across the castle grounds, the red tinge of dawn just beginning to seep over the horizon. Tad Cooper barreled ahead of her, leaping into the air to snap his jaws at a few bats returning to their nests. While his wings had reached their full size a few weeks ago, he still couldn’t take off properly and only flapped uselessly as he jumped. Roberta wondered miserably what would happen when he learned to be fully airborne. They already had enough difficulty trying to keep him from eating the neighbor’s cows, God only knew what he’d bring back once he could truly hunt.

Unable to catch any bats, Tad Cooper wandered back to her side, tail swishing happily. He bent down to bump his head against her arm until she stopped to scratch under his chin.

“You are far more trouble than you’re worth,” she said sourly, but without any real malice. “And the Jewel of Valencia was worth a lot.” Tad Cooper only growled with contentment, blinking one eye at a time.

The sun has risen by the time they circled back to the castle. To be fair, it wasn't a very grand one. It was an old summer home of the king and queen of Valencia and had been given to them by Isabella as a wedding gift, along with the surrounding province. The gesture was as political as it was sentimental, for it solved the continent's problem of having too many kings and not enough thrones. Though Roberta kept quiet about the irony inherent in giving the smallest portion of land to the king meant to "rule them all.”

In truth she was somewhat grateful that Richard no longer ruled the lands of the north. Even this “starter castle” (as the realtor described it) was far larger than anywhere else she’d lived, and she felt at times more like a trespasser than the head of the household. It was still difficult to feel comfortable with her very rapid rise in station. She had already wasted a lot of ink crossing out the “Bobby Steingass” she’d signed by reflex on the wedding thank-you’s and replacing it with the proper “Roberta R,” and Richard constantly teased her for insisting she didn’t need more than one crown.

(She teased him right back for insisting he needed at least ten. “I couldn’t possibly wear one crown to every function, dear,” he sniffed. “You wouldn’t wear a black tie jacket to a Casual Friday lunch, would you?”)

As they neared the back door, Tad Cooper trotted to the scorched circle where he liked to drag his meals to. He sat and blinked at her again, wings flapping a few times.

“So you’re letting me do the honors this time?” Roberta called to him as she headed towards the sheep pen.

It had been a problem as of late: Tad Cooper would only eat if Richard was the one serving him. They’d scoured the book from cover to cover, but the _Bestiary_ said nothing about dragons going through a picky stage; that was supposed to happen only with regards to their hoards. Normal eating behavior was devouring anything and everything within sight. Tad Cooper had never shown a preference for any particular meat (they stuck with mostly sheep because those were cheapest to buy in bulk), but before she and Richard were married he’d never refused to eat around her like he did now.

Roberta had tried standing there for an hour to make him comfortable. She tried tying up the sheep and then slipping out of sight to give him privacy. She had Richard show her—step-by-step—exactly what he did and said when he played waiter for the dragon, but Tad Cooper had just glanced at the sheep and done nothing. _Maybe he just wasn’t hungry then_ , Roberta thought as she led a ram to the stake in the ground. She stepped back and whistled, and Tad Cooper got to his feet and walked slowly over.

He sniffed at the air, tail whipping slowly back and forth. The sheep began bleating fearfully, which made Roberta feel a little bad, but that was the circle of life. Besides, she was too happy that she’d finally earned Tad Cooper’s trust.

Until the dragon turned his nose in the air and walked away.

“But—you—ugh!” Roberta groaned, untying the shivering sheep and taking it back to the pen. “Fine. Fine! You don’t want breakfast, you don’t get breakfast. You’ll have to wait for Richard to wake up.” She stomped the mud off her boots a little more violently than necessary before she went back inside.

Just as she suspected, Richard still hadn’t stirred. Even when they’d been on Galavant’s quest he could sleep straight through noon if you let him, the one kingly habit he’d never be able to break. She shucked back down to her night dress and slipped under the covers, curling close to him to get warm. She didn’t think she’d be able to fall asleep again, but then suddenly she was opening her eyes to an empty bed and a bright, sunny morning.

“Her Majesty awakens!” greeted Richard cheekily when she found him in his study, a letter in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. “Fair lady, pray, what is the occasion that you should honor me with your presence before lunch?”

“Oh shut up,” said Roberta, bending to kiss him. Thus distracted, he didn’t notice her snatching the toast from his hand until she pulled away and took a victorious bite, perching on the arm of his chair. “You fall asleep by nine-thirty every night like an old man.”

“I _am_ an old man,” Richard retorted, trying unsuccessfully to take back his breakfast. “Wait, that was a terrible comeback. Stop laughing and get your own toast, Sleeping Beauty.”

Roberta batted her eyelashes and twirled the end of her braid around one finger. “Oh my!” she trilled. “Richard the Great, The Conqueror, The Magnificent, The One True King to Unite Them All, thinks I’m beautiful?"

“I love it when you use the whole title,” Richard said, his voice low and husky, and she knew they’d both abandoned all thoughts of the toast. But before she could steal a second kiss, there was a sharp knock at the door.

“King Richard, Good Queen Roberta,” said the butler, looking slightly nauseated, “forgive me for interrupting this private moment that the whole household staff would doubtlessly hear anyway, but the messenger is still waiting for a response.”

“Right, thank you,” Richard said, hurriedly withdrawing his hands from her hips. “Give me a moment.” He rifled through the desk drawers for a scrap of parchment, scrawled off a quick note, poured and sealed the wax, and handed it to the butler. One stiff bow later, they were alone again.

“What was that about?” Roberta asked, reaching for the letter he’d abandoned when she walked in.

“Oh, I just needed to confirm with Lord Wilhelm that I’ll be staying at his manor tomorrow,” Richard replied, replacing the stopper on the bottle of ink. “I like to give the nobles at least twenty-four hours’ notice so that they don’t half-ass the welcoming feast.” His smile slipped from his face when he caught her expression, her eyes narrowing as she scanned down the page. “What’s wrong, dear?”

“You,” Roberta said, slapping the letter back onto the desk, “are going on a provincial tour? Tomorrow?"

“Yes.” Richard looked confused, which only made her angrier. “These trips are necessary if you don’t want the nobility to get riled up about being thrown over for favorites. My great-great grandfather was deposed twice by a faction loyal to Lady Carmen just for never RSVP-ing to her Saturday barbecues. And since there are only a handful of noble families in our territory, I can cover all of them in a week.” He placed a hand on her arm. “Why are you upset?"

“I’m upset because Lord Wilhelm got more notice about your travel plans than I did!” she said, shrugging out of his grasp. “If I hadn’t asked, would you have told me at all? Or would you just have disappeared for seven days without warning?”

“I was going to tell you when you woke up, but you didn’t give me the chance—“

“So you saw nothing wrong with making this decision weeks ago, yet only waiting until the day before you left to inform me?”

“Bobby, I didn’t think you would make it this big of a deal!”

“Of course it’s a big deal! You didn’t even ask if I wanted to come with you!”

At that, Richard finally had the decency to look guilty. But while she thought it would make her feel better to be proven right, somehow Roberta’s spirits only sank lower.

“Did you,” she started, hands clenching the edge of the desk, “did you not want me to come with you?”

Richard stood suddenly, grasping her shoulders. “No!” he said, voice serious but eyes soft. “Of course I want you with me. I wasn’t trying to get away from you, I was trying to make it easier for you. You said that you’ve been feeling overwhelmed since the coronation.” His hands trailed down her arms, squeezing her elbows lightly. “I thought that spending a week meeting one preening lord after another would be the last thing you wanted.”

She averted her eyes, because he was right. Everything went back to that stupid coronation. Now she felt angry, sad, and selfish to boot.

“I’m sorry, Roberta,” said Richard softly. “I didn’t think it through. I’ll write to Lord Wilhelm and tell him to set another place, and we can both leave tomorrow.”

He only ever called her by her birth name when he was telling her something devastatingly honest. Though he didn’t know it, it worked every time. She sighed as she felt her anger crumble and fall away.

“Don’t bother,” she said, placing a hand on his chest. “You’re right, I would’ve been miserable. I know you were only trying to be sweet.” She rose from the desk to slide into his embrace, her head tucked under his chin. They stood there for a moment, quiet.

“But,” she said, pulling away slowly, “please don’t do this again. I know I’m not used to it now, but I am a queen. I have to act like one at some point, even if you have to force me.”

“Force you to act like a queen?” Richard laughed. “My dear, I don’t think that will be necessary. I know who I married, and you were practically born for the title.”

Roberta felt a smile slowly dawning across her face. “And what would that title be? In full, please."

He quirked an eyebrow. Somehow during the conversation his hands had snuck back down to her hips. “Depends. Would you prefer to hear it in English, Latin, or Standard Valencian?”

(Unfortunately for the household staff, she chose all three.)

* * *

In between soothing the fight, having their “private moment,” and sending off Richard the following morning, Roberta had completely forgotten about Tad Cooper. _The Bestiary_ said that dragons were not as intelligent as most people feared (their brains lay somewhere in between enchanted rapping parrots and sphinxes), but they were still beasts who could sense a fair amount of what humans were thinking and feeling, and Tad Cooper seemed to be punishing her for her negligence by throwing a massive tantrum.

He wouldn’t eat. Roberta didn’t go near the pen, touched no sheep, and assigned the job to the bravest of the servants, but Tad Cooper still hissed great jets of flame and stomped in hissy fits. Richard had bid him goodbye, of course, but the dragon seemed to have the idea that he’d been unfairly abandoned by his master and left to mediocre care. Which was ridiculous in itself, given that she’d taken on her fair share of filing his talons and extracting rope from his back teeth when he got too enthusiastic and swallowed the sheep post sometimes.

She’d almost feel hurt, if she wasn’t so annoyed.

“Come on, you fat, fire-breathing bastard,” she grunted, throwing all her weight against Tad Cooper’s thigh as she tried to push him out of the shed, where he’d hidden on the second day of Richard’s absence, moodily roaring as he sorted and resorted his hoard. “I don’t want to force a funnel down your throat but God help me, I will.”

Tad Cooper, who weighed about six tons, was predictably unmoved by both threats and physical force.

By the third day Roberta’s anger was replaced by worry. Her threats switched to pleas, the shoving substituted with gentle pats and coaxing. She even sang the song that Richard did, but Tad Cooper’s hunger strike continued. Though it was difficult to tell, she worried that the dragon was already getting thinner. Were his scales shedding or flaking from dryness? Was he lazy or lethargic? She was panicked enough to send a note to Richard at Lord Wilhelm’s, but the messenger returned in the evening to inform her that Lord Wilhelm’s manor had been evacuated shortly before the king’s arrival thanks to an infestation of pixies. The entire household and royal guests had gone to stay at his brother's residence, another two days’ journey. By the time Roberta could get in touch with Richard there, he’d already be on his way home to his fretting wife and formerly-alive dragon.

On the fourth day, Princess Isabella came to call.

“I’ll admit,” she said, her mouth and nose covered daintily with a handkerchief as she peered through the shed door, “when Richard wrote that Tad Cooper had finally started growing, we didn’t believe him.”

“That’s fair,” said Roberta, offering her hand to help Isabella avoid stepping in the dried blood puddles and ruining her fine silk skirt. “Neither did I, until one morning I found he’d swallowed the stableboy’s greyhound whole.”

They took tea in the sunroom. Though Roberta usually waved the handmaiden away and served herself when she and Richard were alone, this time she let the staff wait on her and the princess. She was anxious to make a good impression; this had been Isabella’s home after all, and Roberta wanted to show that she was capable of keeping it well.

Unfortunately, it seemed the person who would need the most convincing on that front was herself. Roberta couldn’t help but compare herself to her new friend, who was seated neatly in a wicker chair in a pale yellow gown that rivaled the warm glow of the afternoon sun. A vacation by the sea would’ve burnt Roberta red as a lobster, but the sun had only darkened the tone of Isabella’s brown skin, and when she talked about Galavant her eyes twinkled with the sparkle of a young bride. Roberta thought dismally that if a stranger were to walk in on them, they’d immediately think pretty, cheerful Isabella was the newlywed queen and plain, anxious Roberta was the retired, war-weary princess.

“Richard went on his first provincial tour, then?” Isabella said, squeezing a lemon wedge into her cup with a practiced hand. “But why didn’t you?”

Roberta sipped her tea, trying not to fidget. “One of us had to stay behind and watch Tad Cooper,” she lied. “And you can obviously see we made the wrong choice on who that should be.”

Isabella hummed, tapping her spoon against her saucer to shake off any clinging drops. “So it had nothing to do with, hmm, let’s just say hypothetically, your coronation?”

Roberta set her teacup on the table with more force than necessary and gave Isabella her most scathing look.

“Richard told you, didn’t he.”

She must have had some queenliness deep within her after all, because Isabella wilted under the weight of her glare.

“He mentioned it in his letter, yes,” she said meekly, setting her own cup aside to clasp her hands in her lap. “But he didn’t go into many details, and Galavant and I were of course rather, um, _busy_ at the time and didn’t seek out much gossip about it, and we still felt badly about missing the ceremony in the first place, though I know the timing could never have worked out considering how close together our weddings were held, but I hope the castle has made up for it and that you’ve settled in fine—“

“Alright!” Roberta cut in. “I’ll tell you about the coronation. Goodness, you really do babble when you feel bad.”

Isabella looked indignant for a moment, but then brushed it aside and leaned in eagerly to listen.

Roberta took a deep breath and began.

“We didn’t have the wedding and coronation ceremonies on the same day. I know now that it would’ve been much easier to do so, but at the time I was so exhausted from planning the wedding that I just wanted to get it out of the way and settle the coronation afterward. Richard already had his own ceremony at the end of the war, so it didn’t need to be as grand an affair to add one queen. The wedding went off without a hitch—“ even now, Roberta couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she thought of it, “—and after that I felt like I was ready for anything. But as the day got closer, I got more and more anxious until…”

She trailed off, suddenly flooded with the burning memory of her embarrassment. She jumped when Isabella cleared her throat.

“Until?” the princess prodded. Roberta closed her eyes and sighed.

“Until I got cold feet ten minutes before I had to walk into the church, managed to run a mile and a half into the woods in my coronation regalia, and Richard had to talk me down from a panic attack for at least an hour before I agreed to go through with it.”

“Oh,” she added, as Isabella’s jaw dropped, “and I spilled the holy oil on the archbishop.”

They sat in silence. Roberta closed her eyes again and pressed her hands over her face. It would be ridiculous to cry over afternoon tea with a friend just because she couldn’t handle the fact that a girl ten years her junior had her life and kingdom more together than she did. It would also be ridiculous to cry because she desperately missed her husband after only four days of being separated from him.

“Oh, dear,” Isabella said tenderly as she wrapped an arm around Roberta’s quivering shoulders, “it’ll be alright, you’ll see! My mother always told me that a perfect coronation is a bad omen. You have to mess something up or the fairies will come and kidnap your firstborn, you know. Wait, no, wrong legend, that’s the one about knighting ceremonies. Oh, please don’t cry, I’m very bad at comforting crying people, I never had any siblings so I never learned what to do. But I do know you’re a lovely person, Roberta, and you don’t need to worry about a silly coronation mishap, and please say something because I started babbling again and I never know how to shut it off—"

“It’s not just the coronation,” Roberta choked out. “It’s everything about being a queen. I don’t know how all of you do it! Richard was crowned when he was only a child and he was cruel, but he could still manage taxes. You, a princess in captivity, were put in charge of an army with only days to learn military strategy and you still won a battle with pots and pans. And Madalena,” she cringed at the name, “was a peasant girl who almost ruled three kingdoms within two years. And here’s me, The One True Queen To Unite Them All, and I can’t even get a stupid dragon to eat!"

Isabella stroked her back, her brow creased in thought.

“Roberta,” she said finally, “I can’t help you with your self-image. You should definitely consult a wizard about that. But,” she smiled gently, “I think I know someone who can help with the dragon."

* * *

“I love what you’ve done with the hoard space,” said Sir Jackson, examining the shed. “Dark, cozy, very bad-smelling. Most new owners don’t understand that the hoard has to be enclosed. Just last month I met a guy who didn’t give his dragon so much as a cakebox. The poor thing had its whole pile in open air, can you imagine?”

“We read the _Bestiary_ very closely,” said Roberta, relieved that they’d gotten at least one thing right. “We know a cave is best, but there aren’t any nearby and my husband didn’t want him so far away from home before he could fly. They’re buried now, but we did throw a lot of rocks in there for an atmospheric touch.”

“Very nice,” Sir Jackson nodded, his bald head gleaming in the sun as they stepped back outside. “Yes, caves are ideal, but of course in this day and age we must give our scaly friends the closest we can make! Now, could you introduce me to the little fellow?"

Sir Jackson was, according to Isabella, the most renowned magical creature behaviorist in Valencia, possibly even all seven realms. He was an expert in dragons, griffins, phoenixes, unicorns, and rodents of unusual size. He had also apparently done wonders with the scratching problem of the Queen of Valencia’s favorite purebred cat. Isabella had talked Roberta through writing her first royal summons after she’d pulled herself together after tea, making sure that the carrier pigeon’s scroll was signed with a proper and stately “Roberta R.”

(“And you can borrow my Casual Friday crown until you get yourself something less formal for these occasions,” Isabella said kindly, plucking the simple gold circlet from her hair to wind into Roberta’s. “Though I must say, going with the emeralds for your signature piece was a fantastic choice, props to your stylist!”)

When Sir Jackson had arrived at the castle door, however, Roberta became a little less confident in Isabella’s plan. He did not so much look like a magical creature specialist as he did a drifting bard. He even carried his supplies in a lute case.

Still, Tad Cooper warmed to him immediately, letting Sir Jackson pry open his mouth to examine his teeth and tongue and rolling over onto his back hoping for a belly rub. Roberta was dismissed for a while to let Sir Jackson watch Tad Cooper’s behavior in her absence, and she paced through the sunroom without stopping until the expert finally returned.

“Alright. I have a hypothesis,” Sir Jackson announced, accepting the chair Roberta offered. “But I need to ask a few more questions to confirm it. May I?” Roberta nodded. “First, aside from ignoring you during meals, does your dragon demand your attention?”

Roberta snorted at the memory of being nearly crushed in her sleep last week. “Yes, often.”

“Second, regarding discipline, you claimed you are the more authoritative figure in the house. Are you also the one who enforces the rules when your dragon misbehaves?”

“Yes, though God knows how many spray bottles he’s stolen from me."

“And lastly, are you and your husband newlyweds?”

“Yes, but on what on earth does that have to do with—"

“Everything. I know exactly what’s going on.” Sir Jackson sat back in his chair, a satisfied smile stretching across his face. “Congratulations! You’re a new mother.”

Roberta felt like the floor has fallen out beneath her. She planted her palms on the table, trying to steady herself. “I—I’m—I’m what? No, I can’t be pregnant, that’s not possible, I’m sure that I’m past my—"

“What? Pregnant? Oh lord, no!” Sir Jackson waved his hands dismissively as he spoke. “I meant that your dragon has imprinted on you. It _thinks_ you’re its mother.”

The floor came rushing back up. For a few moments Roberta simply gaped at him, trying to get her thoughts back on track. Finally she felt collected enough to move on from the first shock to the second.

“But,” she sputtered, “that still doesn’t make any sense. My husband was the one who took care of him before his growth spurt, he raised him for weeks alone. Why would Tad Cooper form an attachment to me and not him?”

“It’s common behavior among this species,” Sir Jackson explained, rummaging in his lute bag until he dug out a wrinkled pamphlet. Spreading it on the table, it outlined the life cycle of a cartoonish, bright yellow Tad Cooper. “They're matriarchal. You see, once the females lay the eggs, it’s the males who watch the nest. When the little tykes hatch they’re raised exclusively by their fathers until the females return from the hoarding season and assert their dominance over the brood. Which usually involves, er,” he didn’t meet Roberta’s eyes, “a copious amount of mating with the male."

Roberta tried very hard, but ultimately failed to keep her face from turning scarlet.

“Then,” Sir Jackson moved on, tapping another illustration on the diagram, “the young ones all compete for the mother’s attention. You mentioned your dragon has tried to sleep in your room, correct? That’s very common. Families typically all sleep together in one nest to conserve heat, and the spots closest to the mother are the most coveted. But the real contest comes during feeding time, and that’s where the root of your problem lies.” He folded his hands on his knee and looked at her with utmost seriousness.

“Good Queen Roberta, your dragon will not eat in front of you unless you eat in front of it first. It is abstaining because it thinks you are the head of its nest, and by feeding it before eating yourself, it thinks you have not given it permission to begin the meal.”

Roberta was silent.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, “but that sounds completely ridiculous.”

“It’s behavioral science,” Sir Jackson shrugged, smiling gently. “Just try making a show of eating something in front of him and he’ll come around, I guarantee.” He passed her the pamphlet. “And you may keep this too, if you or the king have any further questions.”

Sir Jackson refused to take tea, saying he had to be on his way to see a fire eel with a teething problem. Roberta escorted him to his bright red open-roof carriage, wincing internally when she realized she was shaking his hand in thanks instead of heeding Isabella’s instructions that “queens never touch anyone lower in rank than a duke.”

“I wish you the best of luck, then, Good Queen Roberta,” Sir Jackson said with a wave. “Do as I instructed and see what happens. If your dragon is still refusing to eat after that, send for me again and we’ll take a different approach."

After watching him drive off, Roberta found herself disobeying Isabella again, as she laid a hand on the butler’s shoulder to stop him from opening the door for her.

“Gerald, wait,” Roberta said, wincing again as she remembered that queens weren’t supposed to use servants’ first names either. “Sir Jackson kept calling me ‘Good Queen Roberta.’ Why? I’ve heard it before, from you and the other servants and even some nearby peasants, but I don’t know who started it.” She twisted her hands nervously. “Nor do I understand why people keep saying it. I’ve only been a queen for six weeks. I haven’t done anything ‘good.' I’ve barely done anything at all!”

The butler looked at her as though she’d asked why the sky was blue.

“Your Majesty, for nearly three years this province knew no other queen but Madalena. The simple fact that you’ve come to the throne without any looting, pillaging, or copious bloodshed makes you ‘good’ enough.” He inclined his head. "But if you keep letting the staff walk all over you by tidying up your own messes, I think you will soon find people using the title with more jest than fondness. You don’t have to do anything big, just leave a littered candy wrapper every so often."

“But don’t worry, my queen,” he added, opening the door with a practiced butler’s flourish. “If what Sir Jackson said is true, having the ability to sic a dragon on whoever disobeys you will keep all of us in line for a long, long time.”

* * *

 _What nonsense_ , Roberta thought as she unlocked the gate of the sheep pen. She could feel the weight of the apple in her pocket, tugging her apron into a lopsided drape. While she was determined to prove that absurd specialist wrong, she still could feel a faint pang of worry humming in her chest. What if it didn’t work? What if Tad Cooper wouldn’t eat around her for a completely different reason? What if Richard was delayed again and Tad Cooper got sick from starving himself? Or what if something dreadful prevented Richard from returning? Would she be stuck here alone, watching a dragon waste away, waiting for a master who would never come back?

Roberta shook her head. She had to stop this habit of assuming the worst. _If your anxieties always came true, you’d be living on a farm with your great-aunt and twelve cats right now_ , she scolded herself. Now was the time to stop being such a pessimist. Richard would return in two days, Tad Cooper would get over himself once he saw his true favorite and gobble down a few dinners, they’d laugh about Jackson's ridiculous theory, and the three of them would all be fine.

 _Just the three of us_ , she thought, watching a few lambs play together. _A father, a mother, and their fire-breathing hellbeast._

It wasn’t as if she’d never considered motherhood before; Roberta had been pestered enough by her parents over the years to settle down and start giving them grandchildren. Unlucky for them and the continuation of the family tree, such constant nagging had the opposite effect. She’d been stubbornly content with her pre-Richard life, and the amount of dangerous exploits involved in it did not leave much room for children.

But now she lived in a castle instead of a one-room village flat, she had a royal treasury’s worth of savings, and she was happily married to a man she loved. If there was ever a time to start nesting, it was now.

If only she wasn’t too old and too scared.

There was the pessimism again. The stake wobbled at Roberta knotted the sheep’s rope and pulled it taut. She would have this conversation with Richard when he returned, she decided. He would tell her she worried too much (true), that all these baby cravings were a side effect of inhaling noxious fumes from Tad Cooper’s breath (probably true), and that he loved her in spite of her fixation on such a ridiculous idea (hopefully true. _Oh dammit, Bobby, can’t you see the glass half-full for once?_ ).

But first… Roberta put two fingers to her mouth and whistled.

The trees at the edge of the property shook as Tad Cooper burst into the clearing, galloping across the lawn with an excited growl bellowing from his throat. For a moment Roberta had a wild hope that he by now was so hungry he’d just devour his lunch without paying her any mind, but true to what Sir Jackson said he slowed his pace as soon as he caught sight of her. Though he must be eyeing the sheep with relish, he stopped while still twenty yards away and plopped down on the grass like he only meant to sun himself.

Roberta fished the apple out of her apron pocket and whistled for his attention again, holding it high so that he could see. Tad Cooper’s head followed the motion of her hand as she waved it back and forth.

“Alright, you loony lizard,” said Roberta. “Here goes nothing.” She brought the apple to her mouth and took a bite.

She was thrown to the ground as Tad Cooper immediately charged past her and snatched up the sheep.

There was a brief terrified bleat before the telltale snap of Tad Cooper’s jaws crunched the body flat, chewing only once before he swallowed it whole. Roberta laid on her back, tailbone aching from her fall, staring in bewilderment as the dragon belched up a small ball of flame and a matted ball of blood-soaked wool. After flicking his tongue over his snout to catch any lingering sheep flavor, he turned to her, cocked his head, and whined.

“Oh,” Roberta said, letting her head drop back against the grass, “my god.”

Tad Cooper ate his fill of six more sheep before he retreated to his hoard to happily cough up bits of bone and hoof, while Roberta sat on the front step and fought the urge to smack herself on the forehead. She, a middle-aged, overly-anxious, inexperienced queen, had been chosen as a role model by a legendary man-eating beast. She was a dragon mother. (Or a mother of dragons? No, that sounded too silly.) Sir Jackson was right: she’d only been sending Tad Cooper the wrong signals.

In fact, most of her other problems seemed to revolve around her sending the wrong signals. Suddenly, Roberta was reminded of Richard’s obsession with the right crown for every occasion, and had an idea. What if she was being too unclear not only as a dragon owner, but as a queen? What if all she had only been failing as a ruler because she kept refusing to change her own behavior?

She thought it over again: she, a middle-aged, overly-anxious, inexperienced queen, had been chosen as a role model by a legendary man-eating beast. When you looked at it from the outside, it was actually quite impressive. And it was true, too, that she’d come to the throne without looting, pillaging, or copious bloodshed. Her reign so far was brief, but even with a little spilled holy oil on the archbishop, it hadn’t been a disaster.

She understood now. Roberta clambered to her feet, brushed off her apron, and vowed to live up to the title she’d been given.

She still a little embarrassed to see the whole staff scurry from the windows when she went back inside, all of them caught red-handed at watching the whole affair. Most stumbled through bows and curtsies and hurried back to the positions they’d abandoned, but the butler merely dipped his head with a look akin to pride.

“Is there anything I can do for you, my queen?”

Roberta opened her mouth to dismiss him, and then remembered.

“Yes,” she said, in what she hoped was a tone that conveyed both kindness and command, noticing that a few maids paused in their flight to listen. “There’s an apple core I left on the lawn. Could you dispose of it for me, please?”

“Of course, Good Queen Roberta,” Gerald answered, flashing her a brief thumb’s-up.

She retired soon after supper, but was awoken late in the night by the bed frame creaking on Richard’s empty side. Or Richard’s formerly-empty side; Tad Cooper had wormed through the door again and had laid his great head next to her pillow. Roberta was about to go for the spray bottle, but before she could worm out of the blankets, she caught Tad Cooper’s eyes watching her, like black beads glinting in the moonlight.

She sighed.

“One night,” she said, holding up a finger in front of the dragon’s snout. “You get one night, and if you manage not to smother me, I’ll think about letting you back in tomorrow. No biting, no snoring, no blanket-stealing, and try not to drool all over Richard’s favorite pillow.”

Tad Cooper snorted. The smoke drifting from his nostrils smelled like burning tar, but she’d gone five nights without Richard beside her, and at least this way she’d be warm.

“Sweet dreams, Tad Cooper,” she said, and closed her eyes.

* * *

 

There was a puff of breath against her face, then the sensation of something soft pressing briefly against her cheek. Roberta was ready this time. She whipped the spray bottle out from under the pillow and spritzed Tad Cooper on the nose without even opening her eyes.

“Wha—augh!”

Except it wasn’t Tad Cooper.

She sat up in a flash. The dragon had left the other side of the bed and in his place sat her husband, water droplets clinging to his beard and confusion clinging to his face.

“Richard!” She flung her arms around him, almost tackling him flat. “You’re home early!”

“Kings always get bumped to first class on Delta Stagecoaches,” he replied with some difficulty, because she had planted both palms on his cheeks and was kissing him everywhere she could reach. “I wanted to surprise you, but I think you and your reflexes won this round.”

“I’ll take my prize then,” she cooed, bumping her nose against his, and she could feel Richard smile against her mouth as he kissed her back. She ran her hands down his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, and she considered tackling him flat on purpose this time. It would even be convenient for the household staff, since they were already on the bed and behind thicker walls.

“I missed you so much,” Richard sighed in the breath between one kiss and another, and she definitely decided on moving forward with the tackling idea. But it seemed fate had other plans.

Fate being Tad Cooper, who chose that moment to bowl them both over with a nudge of his head.

“Seems like someone else missed me too, eh?” Richard laughed, patting the dragon’s snout. “Have you been a good boy? Have you? Have you?” Roberta rolled her eyes.

“You’re doing the weird high voice again,” she said, flicking her husband’s nose with one hand and giving Tad Cooper a pat of her own with the other.

“I am n—“ Richard cleared his throat and went down to his usual octave. “I am not. This doesn’t concern you anyway, since I was going to ask Tad Cooper if his good behavior warranted…” the dragon’s eyes swiveled onto Richard as he drew out the pause, “…a treat.”

Instantly they were freed as Tad Cooper bounded through the door and clambered out of the hall window, spitting an excited stream of fire as he did. Richard slid off the bed and offered her a hand.

“It’s a mountain troll’s left shoe,” he explained as she made her way to the dresser to fix her hair. “He’ll be as happy as a nun on Easter. Though I do hope it fits through the shed door.” He leaned against her back, kissing her shoulder as she unbraided her hair and began pinning it back. “I had a present for you too," he said, “but then you went and beat me to the idea.”

Roberta followed his gaze in the mirror to Isabella’s circlet, laid carefully aside on the dresser to be returned in the post.

“Oh, it’s only a loan,” she said. “I was discouraged from wearing my emerald one to a Casual Friday summons.”

“You ordered a summons?” Richard’s brow creased. “When? With who?”

“Just yesterday. I was having some trouble with Tad Cooper while you were away.” She turned around to face him, running her hands absently through Richard’s hair as she spoke. “But Isabella gave me some advice, I called in an expert, and now everyone’s fine! There’s a pamphlet you can read later, if you like. Did you know that hoarding left shoes and cart wheels is actually common for his species?”

Richard chuckled warmly, slipping his arms around her waist. “What did I tell you? You were born for the title: The One True Queen to Rule Them All, Almighty Dragon Tamer, and a Stunning Creature in Casual Friday Gold.”

Oh, how she had missed him.

“Richard,” she said, “there’s one more thing. While I was talking with the expert, there was a bit of miscommunication.” She swallowed her nervousness as best she could. “He was trying to tell me that Tad Cooper thinks we’re his parents, or his weird, fleshy, adopted parents at least, but what I heard him say was that we were… _regular_ parents.”

“‘Regular’ parents? What does that—” Richard’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Oh! Oh…” He studied her carefully. “Are we really—”

“No,” said Roberta quickly, “no.” She added more softly, “But I wanted to ask how you would feel, if we were.”

Richard paused. “How I would feel?” he asked, looking away in thought. After another moment he met her eyes again. “My dear, every day with you has been happier than the last. I would feel that nothing could possibly change that.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Though I have to say, if an heir is what you really want, we might have some trouble. We’re not what they call ‘spring chickens,’ after all.”

He yelped when she whacked him on the arm, but stopped pouting when she laughed.

“Well, no,” she said, turning away to pluck Isabella’s circlet from the dresser and thread it into her hair. The princess wouldn’t mind, surely, if she delayed its return just one more day. She faced Richard again with a smile. “But I’ve decided to try this strategy where I see the glass half-full. After all, I have a new kingdom—” she kissed his forehead, right under the brim of his crown, “—a new husband—” she kissed his mouth, ignoring Richard’s hum of protest when she pulled away sooner than he’d like, “—and a new six-ton baby. Things could be worse, couldn’t they?”

“‘Things could be worse’ isn’t quite optimism, darling,” Richard rolled his eyes, “but I’m sure you’ll get there.”

She whacked him again, but made sure to kiss his frown away.

* * *

As turned out, things _could_ be worse, when nine months later Tad Cooper decided to celebrate the birth of the crown princess (his weird, fleshy, adopted sister) by showing off his newfound power of flight.

“Oh, don’t fret!” Isabella said as she bounced her own daughter on her lap. “My mother always told me that a perfect christening is a bad omen. You have to mess something up or the gnomes will wither your crops, you know. Besides, no one really liked the archbishop that much.”

Roberta shook her head, kissed her daughter, kissed her husband, spritzed her dragon, and signed her summons for Sir Jackson with a neat “Roberta R.”

**Author's Note:**

> First: THANK YOU for all of your kind comments on my previous fic, wow?!?! I'll be honest, I myself was outraged that not a single Richard/Roberta fic existed on AO3 before it, and therefore decided that I had to be the change I wanted to see in the world. So hearing that it was exactly what the people wanted makes me very glad :')
> 
> More notes as always
> 
> -The bonus “R” in Roberta’s signature stands for regina, Latin for “queen.” Abbreviating your Latin royal title in your official signature is a practice that dates back to the Tudor period, but this fic is about as historically accurate as Galavant itself so I can do what I want. (Fun fact: Queen Elizabeth II has used “Elizabeth R” to sign her tweets.)  
> -My characterization guidelines for this ship were no holds barred on pda and cheesiness. Thank you show for making it canon that when not grossing out even the oldest of spinsters, they just stand in the background and giggle to each other constantly. I am truly blessed.  
> -Six tons is the average weight of an adult African bush elephant, which should give you a sense of Tad Cooper’s size, but he IS still an adolescent dragon…  
> -I was sad that Roberta and Isabella never got to interact in the show; both being rational, sick of boys’ antics, and fond of fighting, they seemed like they would get along really well.  
> -Yes, Sir Jackson is Jackson Galaxy of “My Cat From Hell” fame.  
> -I didn't want dragons to behave too much like any one animal, so you may notice Tad Cooper has many kinds of familiar and unfamiliar animal habits!  
> -The entire inspiration for this fic was based on how, at the end of the show, when I heard the words "time to feed" and "finicky little fellow" I immediately assumed 1) Richard and Roberta had a baby 2) they named their baby AFTER THEIR DRAGON. I loved the real ending regardless, but always was just a little bit sad that that wasn't the case…  
> -Yes, there is another Hamilton reference in here, +10 bonus points if you find it ;)


End file.
